The moment the words left his mouth, Soleocito realized the truth. It was a well-known axiom in the mystical world: for a lower-sequence being to pry into a higher-sequence existence was an act of seeking death.

  And that child—whether he was a Saint or a God-Child—his bloodline undoubtedly belonged to an absolute high-level existence. In other words, that mist blocking their prying was not an obstacle, but a form of... protection?

  Realizing this, Soleocito couldn't help but utter a word of praise: "As expected of the Deity famed in legends for His benevolence and kindness."

  Anthony had clearly arrived at the same conclusion, but the final outcome required his personal confirmation. All of this hinged on one premise: whether the boy truly possessed the Elven bloodline.

  If he did, even if he weren't a God-Child, the Church would treat him as one. The reason was simple: since he carried the mist arranged by a Deity, it meant he was under that Deity's direct gaze. In such a case, even with the blood of an ordinary Elf, he would still be a "God-Child."

  Perhaps this was a herald of the Elven race’s return to the Croatian continent, or an opportunity for the Church to forge an alliance with them. Anthony composed his thoughts, calming his heart. To his surprise, he felt a flicker of nervousness. As a Sublime One, how many years had it been since he last felt such a sensation?

  Perhaps it was excitement. If the boy truly carried that Gaze, history would turn a new page today, at this very moment, and by his own hand.

  Just then, a knock came from the door, followed by Dean Como’s report: "Your Excellency the Archbishop, Eros Lunca North has arrived."

  Taking a long breath, Anthony regained his usual composure. "Send him in," he said, his voice flat and natural.

  The heavy doors of the meeting room slowly opened. Eros, dressed in his grand formal suit, took a deep breath and stepped inside. As long as he passed today's test, he would secure the Church's total trust, making his family safer than ever before. After all, the Church was hunting for "Remnants of the Night"—what did that have to do with a successor of the Elven bloodline?

  The doors clicked shut behind him, leaving only two men and one Holy Artifact spirit in the room. Eros had met the spirit before. So, the man at the head of the table is Anthony Turand, the Cardinal Archbishop of the Reincarnation Church and a Sublime One?

  Feeling the simultaneous gaze of the man and the spirit, Eros couldn't help but feel tense. Fortunately, the passive skill "Lord of Secrets" gave him the confidence to quickly steady his nerves.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Eros stepped forward and prepared to bow, but to his shock, he found himself unable to move. His pupils shrank as a chilling thought surfaced: Has my identity as a member of the Night Clan been exposed?

  But he quickly dismissed the idea. If he were exposed, he wouldn't be standing there unharmed. So what was happening? He glanced toward the head of the table.

  He saw the Archbishop’s eyes had turned a brilliant red-gold, his gaze locked onto Eros as if trying to strip away every secret.

  With a single look, Anthony confirmed the boy was indeed of Elven blood. Following the river of bloodline upstream, he soon encountered the mist Soleocito had described. It was indeed similar to the Mist of the Lost at sea. Taking a deep breath, he began to chant a silent prayer:

  "Lord of the Ancient Underworld, Ruler of the River of Reincarnation, You are the salvation of the living, the home of the dead, the peace of a billion souls... I, Anthony Turand, implore Your protection and Your gaze."

  Finished, he ignored the warnings of his spiritual intuition and plunged his gaze into the mist. But beyond the mist was only more mist. In the next instant, his vision was violently severed by a grand, irresistible force.

  Golden blood trickled down from Anthony’s eye sockets. He seemed oblivious to it, praying in a low voice: "Thank you, Merciful Lord! Praise the Merciful Lord!"

  Just now, the Deity he worshipped had descended a sliver of Divine Power to cut his gaze. Had it not happened, his vision might have followed the connection of that mist to face that twisted, indescribable existence in the deep sea.

  While his Status as a Sublime One meant he wouldn't die instantly, who knew if that Being would follow the gaze back into his mind? His current level could not sustain the avatar of such an existence. This was why he had prayed beforehand.

  Now he was certain: the mist in Eros’s bloodline was of the same origin as the mist covering the sea. He just didn't know if it was the work of the Elven New God or that even more Grand existence. He leaned toward the latter, as no one had successfully Uplifted the Throne in millennia.

  Eros stared at the Archbishop, stunned by the golden blood. He didn't dare ask Barbara for fear of being detected. He had his own guesses: the Archbishop had tried to pry into him and... failed? But Eros was only a Sequence 7; why would a failed prying cause such a high-level injury? Is it my 'uniqueness' again? Or something else I don't know?

  While Eros was lost in thought, Anthony spoke, his voice warm and steady: "Your bloodline is equally noble; therefore, you do not need to bow to me."

  Bloodline? Eros pondered. The Archbishop had peeked at his bloodline—given to him by the Elven Deity—so he had likely seen the Deity and suffered a backlash. That made sense.

  Eros put on a perfectly timed expression of shock. "Does Your Excellency refer to my Elven bloodline?"

  Anthony nodded with a smile. "After my confirmation, you are undoubtedly a God-Child, not a Saint."

  "Your family has always been pious believers of my Lord, and you shall become the God-Child of our Church."

  "However, for certain reasons, we cannot publicly reveal your status as a God-Child. We will announce that you are merely the successor of an ordinary Elven bloodline. But worry not; the Church will provide ample compensation to you and your family."

  "This meeting is over. Remember, do not speak of this conversation to anyone. You may leave."

  Eros was baffled. That's it? It felt confusing and rushed, but he wasn't complaining. The less said, the fewer mistakes made.